


To Softly Drown

by aionimica



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Decisions, Cheating, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Smut as Character Work, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aionimica/pseuds/aionimica
Summary: Rey and Kylo Ren know they shouldn't, but they keep finding ways to be together.





	To Softly Drown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caisha/gifts).



> a Valentine's Treat for the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology Exchange
> 
> prompt: Something to do with Reylo having an affair with each other, one can be single, or both can be taken
> 
> FYI i listened to [“Sheets"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FwOtHso5Wg) by Damien Jurado and ["Misplaced Devotion"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSv5v-3n4rs) by the Dear Hunter on endless repeat while writing this ;) So enjoy the feeeeels.

* * *

 

 

He collapsed into her, his limbs folding at odd angles as the door shut behind him and her lips met his. One moment there was Rey standing there in a tank top, and shorts, wearing her hair half up and smudged eyeshadow and the next she was coiled around him, her limbs tucked against him, her hands under his shirt and her breath in his ear.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Kylo whispered against the curve of her jaw as she shut the door behind him and backed them towards her bed.

“But you are,” she replied. 

It was the same thing every time. He’d knock on her door and she’d open it and offer him coffee. He’d sit and she’d watch him fumble for words they both knew didn’t need to be said. He was seeing someone else, she always had a fling -- this was just a one-time thing, it wouldn’t happen again, but it did. Every other encounter was lacking, but together they consumed and took of the other.  

His hands never left her, his fingers tailed in her hair. She never wore lipstick, but his mouth was stained with the taste of her lip gloss. It was soft and sweet with milk and honey. The stickiness stayed on his lips that poured from her and that dragged them back together. 

Her sheets were soft and slick and cool and they wrapped around him like a wave pulling him down where he would drown. And drown he did in her sighs and her moans and the slick between her thighs.

To her, he was the constant rising sun and falling moon that cast shadows over what she wished to hide. Opening old scars and setting old bones were their actions, wrapping each other up in a tangled mess of skin and limps, their history set to a soundtrack of moans and pants and whispers of things they were denied.

To him, he was an anchor that held him down on the floor of the sea and when she opened her mouth with pleasure as he rocked his hips and thrust, he swallowed what she gave. 

It didn’t matter who they were with, they always came back to each other on illicit nights or under bright middays. No one else would take her like he did, no one would reel him in like her. They were made for each other, but only for nights and bright lights and contradictions they couldn’t place. They were made for messes. They weren’t made for cleaning things up. 

“It won’t last,” she told him once as he fumbled for a condom in the dark. He didn’t have to ask whether she meant his girlfriend or her boyfriend or their arrangement or it all.

“I know,” he said in the dark and he kissed her again and again until they both could forget and could pretend it would last forever. 


End file.
